


Poison

by Cranksta



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Connor Tries, Depressed Hank Anderson, Hank Anderson is a Damaged Human, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Long Term Effects of Alcoholism, M/M, Mortality, Non-Specific Mentions to Android Abuse, Purposefully Vague Ending, Self-Destruction, The World Still Hates Androids, hurt/some comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 16:55:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16163030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cranksta/pseuds/Cranksta
Summary: Connor knows that Hank is trying.Connor also knows that it isn't enough.





	Poison

It had been a rough day, even by Connor’s standards.

 

The revolution had only done so much- so many humans still incensed about the whole thing. Revenge crimes had spiked, becoming part of he and the Lieutenant’s daily lives. Not all androids were deviants, but the number was rapidly growing with each passing day. There were still plenty of androids out there experiencing the beginnings of individualism in a place that did not support it- even violently rejected it.

 

Though illegal, some humans kept hold of what little control they had left. Taking advantage of the remaining loopholes and the sheer amount of humans willing to look the other way.

 

Today they had pulled eight android children out of-

 

His LED spun red against the interior of the car, pushing the memory away as best as he could. They were on their way home now. He would think about the case tomorrow.

 

For now, he had Hank to worry about.

 

Being deviant had its ups and downs. He liked to think the ups made it worth it, despite the harsh downs that would rear time and again. He was not human, no, but he was alive. He could feel. He could learn and express himself in the ways he saw fit.

 

And he had no idea what to do.

 

Hank was… nearly unreadable. Silent and stiff as he drove home with knuckles wrapped tightly against the steering wheel. Jaw tight, a faint grinding illustrated by the way his mandibular tendons flexed in a rhythmless pattern. He was clearly disturbed, yet Connor hadn’t been able to pull more than a few words from him in the last four hours.

 

They pull into the driveway and Connor waits for Hank to move first, following him closely behind, hanging his charcoal woolen trench coat on the rack alongside Hank’s. Their home. He takes a few moments to think, put his emotions into order.

 

Sumo grumbled, barely moving from his bed in the kitchen by the radiator. Connor doesn’t blame him- he analyzes the warmth and finds it best for soothing Sumo’s arthritis. He suspects it to be why Hank placed the dog bed there in the first place.

 

Thoughtful. Kind. Hank was nothing like the humans they’d encountered today.

 

Yet he knew Hank was already comparing himself to them. Agonizing over what was same between them instead of what was different.

 

_ “I used to be in those fuckin’ rallies, Con. You’ve seen the goddamn stickers on my desk. You know I was one of them.” _

 

Yes. He had known. Loved Hank anyway, because he’d saved Connor’s life despite it.

 

There was a story there, behind the stickers and the shameful self-anger. Something Hank wasn’t telling him. He was content not to press- Hank would tell him when he felt ready.

 

Whatever it was, it wasn’t what they saw today. Hank wasn’t the kind of person to kidnap abandoned deviants off the street to drain of Thirium for Red Ice production. He wasn’t one to beat a service android until they deviated out of self preservation. He wasn’t the one locking modified deviant android children in a storage unit for the purpose of sale.

 

No. Hank was kind. Cried when they watched dog movies and grumbled when Connor pointed it out. Reached out to soothe victims at scenes without thinking about it. Helped Connor ease into life as a thinking, feeling being with genuine care.

 

He walks through the dining room and into the kitchen intending on sharing his thoughts when he sees Hank hunched over the counter, pouring a shot of whiskey into a glass after very obviously already draining it.

 

Connor’s LED spirals a spotty red-yellow pattern as he takes in the sight.

 

Hank is going to get drunk tonight. Stay up late into the night and arrive to the precinct hungover and tired. Maybe spend a few hours in the bathroom vomiting up the toxic levels of alcohol. Ignore the plan they had to get him sober- to find better outlets for his stress and depression.

 

He was eating better, exercising with Connor three days out of the week and becoming healthier. Attending regular sessions with a therapist to work through his emotional turmoils.

 

But this. The alcohol remained a constant despite it all.

 

Hank threw back the glass of whiskey, already reaching for another.

 

Connor’s LED spun solid red.

 

He moved quickly, pressing himself between Hank and the counter, blocking line of sight to the bottle and staring up at his human pleadingly.

 

“Fucking hell, Connor-”

 

“Please, Hank. Not tonight. ”

 

Silence as Hank’s blue eyes bore into him, a frowning scowl taking over his image. This close, Connor could analyse the human’s breath. The half-drank bottle had been new when Hank had started.

 

His stress levels rose sharply.

 

Several pre-constructions formed in his mind simultaneously, different ways to get his human away from the amber liquid behind his back.

 

Throwing the bottle against the wall where it would shatter and spill. Drinking it all himself where it could process harmlessly until he cleaned it out later. Pinning the human back as he poured it down the sink.

 

He settled on the last one- the one most likely to achieve satisfactory results for both of them.

 

He reached forward, pulling Hank in by the collar of his shirt and kissing him ferociously. Ignoring the taste of whiskey on Hank’s tongue and focusing on getting his human to respond. Hank was already loose from drink, leaning heavily into him and moaning.

 

Alive. Warm. Soft.

 

He needed contact with his human and Hank clearly needed a distraction. This worked best for both of them.

 

Hank’s arms curled around his waist, a clatter ringing against the counter as he carelessly knocked over the whiskey bottle behind Connor’s back, spilling it down the front of the cabinet and the rear of Connor’s trousers.

 

Connor jumped at the cold sensation, Hank cussing and pushing him out of the way as he grabbed the dish towel hanging on the oven to try and mop up the mess.

 

He leaned against the sink, biting his lip and watching as the whiskey spilled uselessly onto the floor.

 

He should’ve moved it out of the way before starting, but he found he had no regret. Just satisfaction that Hank would no longer be drinking tonight one way or another.

 

Hank was red-faced, finally looking up at him as he threw the towel onto the wet tile and grabbed the bottle to toss it in the bin. Clearly unhappy.

 

“Fuckin’ A, Connor. Was all of that just to stop me from drinking?”

 

Connor’s LED spun yellow, calculating the results of being truthful and deceitful. Found a good middle ground.

 

“There are better ways to spend the night, Hank.”

 

Hank’s confused scowl was back, expression looser under the effects of the liquor running through his system.

 

“I don’t need you to fuckin’ whore yourself to me to distract me, Connor.”

 

Connor jerked back reflexively, LED spinning red.

 

He hadn’t thought of it that way, he’d just wanted to change the results of the night based on present factors. If he’d let Hank continue drinking then he’d become sick and uncomfortable for the next few days. Hank would become depressed, drink more and Connor would be left to pick up the pieces as he lost control of himself and his traumas.

 

He loved Hank. Hated to see him like that. And he’d been looking forward to a quiet night with his human in bed, processing the day together and finding a measure of quiet in the safety of their own home. Sex was always a welcome event and Connor did not see it as anything but an alternative option to watching Hank-

 

Watching Hank  _ poison _ himself.

 

He stood, unable to speak. He hadn’t intended to make things worse, he just wanted Hank to  _ stop _ . Based on Hank’s current health and lifestyle, his alcoholism was the #2 probably cause of early death right behind heart disease and above suicide. He just wanted to keep Hank healthy.

 

But he’d made things worse hadn’t he?

 

“I just wanted to help, Hank.”

 

He spoke quietly, barely enough for Hank to hear the shame in his voice.

 

He hardly noticed as Hank recoiled, reaching out. He was already walking out of the kitchen towards the entryway, ignoring the chill of whiskey still on his slacks and grabbing his coat.

 

“Connor- goddammit  _ Connor! _ ”

 

He didn’t pause, ignoring the human calling for him and slipping out the door into the chill of the night. 

 

If Hank wanted to have the night to himself, he could. He wouldn’t be there to interrupt and make things worse. He didn’t need to sleep. He could come home in the morning before work.

 

The cellular line in his central processor blipped into his view.

 

Hank.

 

He ignored the call, putting the line on silent for the night.

 

He needed space to think.

 

===

 

He made a point to avoid interrupting his human’s evening activity for the rest of the week, but found it unnecessary. Hank had stayed sober since that night, almost a full four days. Not the longest period of sobriety, but the effort made him proud. He knows that logically, curbing an addiction after years of using it to cope is going to be an uphill battle for Hank. He can’t remain angry over a single discretion. He can only be supportive of Hank’s efforts.

 

Hank had apologized the day after that night and Connor knew it to be real. It wasn’t a promise to prevent further incidents, but the apology was welcome all the same.

 

Hank  _ was _ getting better. Slowly, but steadily. He had to remember that.

 

But when he jolts out of stasis due to the sound of a glass smashing, he knew exactly what to expect. Could already see Hank crouched trying to clean his broken liquor glass without having to step into the kitchen.

 

And when he does step into the kitchen, that’s exactly what he sees.

 

This time the bottle is barely touched, maybe a few drinks before Hank’s clumsiness (tremors were a constant now, a sign of withdrawal and strongest at the beginning of a sobriety period) stopped him.

 

Connor gripped at the edge of the hoodie he wore, one of Hank’s own and a favorite to rest in after a long day. It made Hank happy to see him in it and it gave him a warmth in his torso that had nothing to do with heat retention. A sign of their closeness.

 

His LED spins an intermittent red as he realizes that Hank has relapsed once more. He remembers last time he tried to interfere and freezes in the dining room. Hank had even timed his drinking to avoid Connor being aware of anything until after it happened. He was refusing support- refusing Connor’s help.

 

Hank looks up at him, eyes wide and guilt written on his features. Connor can already hear the excuses and apologies coming from him before he speaks. They’ll all be real, but they won’t mean anything.

 

Because in a week, Hank will be back here.

 

Connor can’t help but analyse the liquor on the floor and in the bottle on the counter.

 

The chemical properties pull up quickly but it’s not what he sees.

 

He sees Hank on the floor, gun in his hand and at an extreme risk of pulmonary aspiration. He sees Hank descending into depression and talking about himself in ways he wouldn’t if sober. He sees the way Hank struggles at cases after a night of binge drinking, missing important details and getting angry at himself for it. He sees Hank’s shock at Connor bringing up arguments he doesn’t remember.

 

He sees statistics. The effects of alcoholism on the human male. Complications for heart disease, high blood pressure, dementia, stroke, cancer, liver disease. The average reduction of life of ten years.

 

In conjunction with Hank’s other risk factors, he’ll be lucky if Hank reaches 65- in actuality he’s lucky Hank made it this far at all. Every moment they have is against the statistics.

 

Borrowed time.

 

Hank knows this. He’s trying in other ways to improve his life expectancy, yet there’s still  _ this. _

 

The largest factor. The highest risk.

 

And Hank won’t  _ stop. _

 

He knows it’s selfish to equate the drinking with a lack of love, but it pierces him all the same. Why isn’t Hank taking this seriously? Does he care so little for the time they have together that he won’t even try to extend it? Connor is so keenly aware that this life they have together is limited and the darkness that swarms his mind of what comes  _ after _ hits him like a bat.

 

His LED glows bright red as he crumbles to the floor, tears already streaming down his cheeks. How long has he been crying? He’s not sure, but the analysis of the liquor is blurry.

 

It all has the same label to him now, glaring bright and red in his mind.

 

**_POISON_ **

 

Hank is poisoning himself. Continues killing himself with every glass like he doesn’t care.

 

Because he knows. He knows Hank knows. It doesn’t matter to him because he’s still  _ here _ nurturing the addiction as if nothing is wrong.

 

Hank is stealing what time they have because in the end, the alcohol means more than him. Means more than the love and life they share.

 

“That’s not true. Connor,  _ fuck _ , look at me  _ please _ .”

 

Warm hands on his arms, pulling gently.

 

He does, smearing away the tears in his eyes and melting into Hank’s touch, crawling into the space against his chest. Listening to the heartbeat that he treasures so much.

 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Con. I’m trying, I promise I am.”

 

A moment of quiet, Connor reaching to pull himself closer.

 

“Fuck, Connor. I love you. Don’t ever think I don’t.”

 

Hank is shaking and Connor can’t bring himself to speak. Hank is being as truthful as he’s always been in moments like this. It’s a balm and a sting all the same.

 

Because he doesn’t know if they will be back here in a weeks time or a months time or a years time.

 

But he knows that they  _ will _ be back here.

 

It’s just a matter of time.

 

Connor curls against his human and decides to accept the words being told him. Maybe they’ll be lucky and they’ll never be back here, but he knows he’s naive. Hopeful.

 

Either way, despite it all he’ll still choose this over the alternative. He’ll still remain by Hank’s side for as long as he is able to.

 

And it will never be long enough.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So I lost my father to alcoholism.
> 
> It was brutal, slow, and insidious. It destroyed everything that was good in his life and took any chance of happiness he might have had. It took away his ability to care and love. The alcohol meant more than life itself despite multiple years of treatments and attempted sobriety.
> 
> And he lost the fight.
> 
> ===
> 
> Hank is not a healthy man. He never will be.
> 
> But maybe he will win where my father did not.
> 
> It is entirely up to him.


End file.
